Paris police launch inquiry after Chelsea fans seen abusing black man on film.

Alright loves.

It’s half term and therefore I feel partially human once more.
You should know by now that I have blogger bursts and barren blogger bum notes but today she’s back. The over opinionated, bitter lover, sarcastic shooting singular.

Lovely to meet you.

I’m not a very enthusiastic fan of football, I have lost a fair bet in my time supporting Arsenal and a specific Tottenham fan has taken a great deal of joy from my loss. I have never been to a match, never owned a football however I am a Silver Arsenal Member. Hardcore Gooner for life bruv init.

Football to me has always been a sport for which pansy men kick a ball and earn more in a week than I do all year. The fans vary in eloquence, style and maturity but are all there with the same purpose. Footballers are often reported diving, falling over and even biting, so why was I so surprised to read this headline?

Paris police launch inquiry after Chelsea fans seen abusing black man on film

People from our country travelled to support their team and found it necessary to stop a French civilian from boarding a train that he pays tax for every month. They were proud to be racist they said. Proud to prevent someone from getting home from work. Proud of humiliating another human being. Proud of being utterly vile.

That’s our country ladies and gentleman. No royal finery or scones and afternoon tea.
Scum, vicious racists. That’s our country. How dare they and if publicity is what they were after then fine, they have it. But if my country represents violence and vile racism then I have no want to be a part of it.

Who am I?
A woman, a teacher, a flakey fan of football. My opinion may not reach the ear of those who behave in ways that can only be described as abominable but I refuse to be represented by these disgusting specimens of humanity.

Men? You’re nothing more than big boys playing a little boys game of ‘you can’t be in our gang’ but sadly this time you’ve been caught out. Quite frankly I’d sooner gouge my eyes out with a wooden spoon than be associated with those animals.

Your mothers, I’m sure, are incredibly proud.
Your fathers, I’m sure, are cheering “Go on my son!”
Your children, I’m sure, are fantasying about terrorising their next victim in the school playground. Well…Daddy did it.
Me you ask? I have nothing more to say.

Who am I?

You’ve got those teacher eyes.
I know you have.
You know the ones.
The eyes that say “And where have you been?” when a child walks in late to class.

I’m sorry okay. Sorry.
I don’t have a note. I don’t have a reason. I just have a ‘sorry’.

Do you ever feel like life is swallowing you up? I’m feeling like that. Except that it hasn’t spat me out yet, so I am churning and tumbling in some kind of food processor ready to be eaten up by some big shot. I’d happily serve the big shot and make him feel happy inside but I am pretty sure books, marking and data don’t taste too good.

I watched ‘The Best of Me’ today and cried. I haven’t shown emotion like that for months and my god did it flow. It flowed and flowed and flowed until I was laying in a wet pillow wanting to take a gap year.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy my job. I love it.
I just don’t know who I am. Like who I really am.
I’m many people to many different people and that’s not because I’m two faced because I am the type to tell you if you’re being a *insert bad word* but it’s because I feel like I have to be all of these people. Does that make sense?

Miss Teacher
Miss Daughter
Miss Please don’t screw me over
Miss I don’t f*cking need this shit so f*ck off
Miss Independent
Miss Hold me

Who am I?

I’ll put them into a hat and pick one out in a couple of days.

“You were my best friend. My deepest love. And the very best of me.”

Hottie stalker time.

“Hey hottie”
Takes me a good thirty seconds to realise ‘hottie’ was me.
“Oh sorry, hello”
“So, do you come here often?”
Didn’t start off well really did it. I mean that’s the scraping of the barrel.
“Erm no I don’t actually, this is my first time here”
“I can tell, you’re very unsure of yourself in here aren’t you? I’ve watched you since you walked in”
Great. Fucking great. Why do I always end up with the weirdo?
“Oh, do you often watch girls?”
Valid question. Good to know from the off.
“Oh no. You’re just an acception”
I laughed. Not in a nervous girlie way but in a “for fuck sake get me away from this guy” way.
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an English teacher”
“Ooooo going to tell me off if I’m a bad boy? Give me a detention? Just me and you?”

Erm. I’m still not sure how to react to that. Even at the time I gave him a ‘awww bless you’ve just blown it’ frown and walked off. But still, no verbal reaction. I don’t know whether that’s because I’m shocked, disgusted or numb.

I’m really tired of it all. I’m not a temperature. I’m not a dirty stripper teacher. I don’t like stalkers. And I don’t like cheesy chat up lines. Fuck off.

I’d like a normal guy or in other words…I’m going to be single for a very long time.

Come and play my game!

It’s Saturday night. I’m currently sitting with some maltesers and a takeaway. However, in my head I’m playing the sexual innuendo game, where you take everything someone says in a sexual way.

So far:

“I knew it was going to be too big when I felt it”
“Maybe if I rubbed it”
“Her over the road trimming her bush this morning…”

I’m having so much fun right now.
Laughing and trying to hold it in like a naughty school girl.
Going out?
Naaaa I’d much rather play this game.

Mannequin killer.

Have you ever been in a clothes shop and you’ve turned around so quickly that you’ve knocked a mannequin over?

I did.

Have you then apologised to this mannequin and their dismembered arm laying on the floor?

I did.

I did try to put it back on but managed to put it on backwards so it looked like it was doing a strange ‘Dad Dance’.

I’m so glad it’s Friday.

5 annoyances

Things that have annoyed me today:

1. Packets of crisps that are only half full. Don’t give me “at least you’re saving some calories” shit. I want crisps. I want the calories. I want the whole deal.

2. When you want to get a baby wipe out of a packet and you end up pulling out four all at once. This isn’t some like wipe orgy jeeeez guys I’m a one at a time girl I’ll have you know.

3. People who do not indicate when they’re driving. What am I some bloody mind reader? Right or left you moron? GET OUT OF THE ROAD!

4. Ordering a drink and realising the restaurant has decided to chuck an iceberg in it to avoid giving you the diet coke you paid for.

5. Cyclists who weave in and out of moving cars and then decide the big red light isn’t for them. The big fucking white light will be..

You’ve got know idea how much better I feel right now.

“I’m a survivor…”

Have you ever seen something on a social networking site that made you feel a mixture of anger and hurt?

Have you then also seen this shit, played Destiny Child’s ‘Survivor’ 9 times and then blocked them via every social networking route?

I just did.

I’m nothing and no one special but I don’t have to put up with that. I’m standing my ground, being all feminist and shit and saying no.

How are we all?
I feel like I want to talk to you all to give me a little comfort in my hour of social media blockage need.

I’m a giver.

Friend: “If I was in your situation what would you tell me to do?”
Me: “I’d tell you to walk away”
Friend: “Well then…”

It’s so damn easy to dish out the advice like I’m in some kind of mass produced fast food restaurant. “Order 201 here is your meal of ‘he’s obviously moved on’ with a side helping of ‘have enough respect for yourself to walk away, it’s his loss’. Enjoy your day, if you need anymore fish the sea is over to your right”. Advice is better given than received. It always tastes sour, off, especially when you know they’re right. EEEEEUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH *SPITS OUT THE “YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER” SPEECH*

Take mine.
I won’t take yours.
Nothing personal.
I’m more of a giver than a receiver.
You dirty minded lot. There’s a time and place for that shit guys, grow up.

Love you..

Questionable questions.

Are we afraid of being without them?
Are we afraid of being alone?

That’s the question.

On a lighter note I was just writing a text message that included ‘I’ll do’ in it and just because I forgot to add one little space between those two words, my phone spelt ‘dildo’. Dirty fucker. It’s too late for that shit.